Midnight Oil
by Takada Saiko
Summary: "Stark took a swing at him right there in front of his men. You'd think a guy as smart as Stark wouldn't hit someone twice his size." - Agent Carter 1.05 Steve and the Howling Commandos are called in to come collect their pilot after Howard lands himself in some trouble over a stolen invention.


No shouldn't be a difficult phrase for a person to understand.

It didn't mean yes. It didn't mean maybe. It certainly wasn't an invitation to break into his lab and take it without permission.

Howard had been woken in the earliest hours of the morning by one of his techs pounding at his door and shouting incoherently about a break-in. It had taken a moment longer than it should have for him to understand that it had been his lab that had been broken into - the one that he'd only been away from for about an hour and a half at that point, leaving him more sleep deprived than usual after three straight days of the same - and that things were missing. It hadn't taken long to find out what. Not that he hadn't had a good idea even before he got there.

He hadn't told them _why_ Midnight Oil wouldn't work, only that the design couldn't perform the way they wanted it to. He needed more time if he were going to concoct something that could safely keep soldiers awake and alert for days on end - had they tried coffee? Coffee worked well for him. Coffee and an addictive personality that he focused in on for his work - and apparently General McGinnis had taken that to mean that it worked, but wasn't perfected and had decided to send his goons in to relieve Howard of his creation.

That's how Howard Stark found himself on a plane from London to Finow, Germany. McGinnis wasn't taking his calls. If the calls weren't reaching him or if he was intentionally ignoring him, it was difficult to say in the middle of war-torn Europe, but the general had no idea what he was getting himself into if he tried to use the Midnight Oil. To be fair, neither did Howard. He'd only seen what the gas had done to the rats in the lab he'd doused with it and that had been more than enough. The idea of what it would do to soldiers was… unconscionable. The idea made his stomach turn, and he had a pretty steady constitution.

He put the plane down not too far from the camp, but he had to be driven out to the site after arguing for far too long and threatening things he wasn't actually sure he could make good on. They didn't tell him it was too late. They were likely too afraid to. They dropped him off and ran as if they didn't want to face him or be outed as the ones that had brought him in.

Howard stood frozen in place for a long moment, dark eyes wide and lips parted in an awkward gape. Bodies littered the field, stretching out in every direction. Men in American uniforms moved between them, and despite all that they had seen in the war, even they looked squeamish as they worked to clear the field. Not that he could blame them. It was a horrific scene.

A terrified yelp sounded across the field and Howard barely had time to look over before a shot followed immediately after it, downing one last soldier. The American - the shooter - stumbled back, eyes wide as he scrambled back and Howard rushed over to him.

"What happened?" he demanded, his voice drawing the haunted blue gaze towards him.

"I thought he was dead, but he… got up. He was… he was coming for me. I had to -"

Howard cleared his throat and waved him off. Empathy had never counted very high amongst his many talents, even in the moments where he wished it would. Bumbling around and failing to comfort the kid wasn't going to do anybody any good, though, so he dropped to his knee next to the newly dead man, observing. That much he could do at this point.

He was Russian, if the tattered and bloodied uniform was anything to go by. There wasn't much left of it. It was like a wild animal had gotten ahold of him, shredding cloth and skin in vicious, angry strokes. He wouldn't have been long for the world even if the young soldier hadn't put a bullet in his chest. From the looks of him, Howard wouldn't have guessed that he could have made it to his feet before being shot. Deep, terrible gashes were visible through torn cloth and what looked like teeth marks - human, he mentally filed away with a shudder - on his left forearm. Blood was smeared and dried all along his face.

The young inventor drew in a trembling breath as he shifted his weight to take a look at a fallen body near that one. Also Russian, as was the one next to him and the one next to him. Not a nazi in sight. Just a bunch of Russians that looked like they'd clawed, bitten, and bludgeoned each other to death.

They'd been gassed with Midnight Oil and now McGinnis' people were cleaning up the scene. Once the men here finished there'd be no proof of what happened. Howard's word would be matched up against a general. One star, sure, but as healthy of an opinion of himself as Howard kept, he was still a twenty-seven year-old scientist whose work with the military was often so deeply classified that only a few could get their hands on it. There'd be no repercussions for McGinnis. It'd just be swept under the rug and sold off as a losing battle. There were plenty to go around, afterall.

Truth was that might happen anyway, but if Howard had proof, he could have some sway against the man that caused this. He glanced around before slipping what looked like a pen out of his breast pocket. He hasn't tested it fully yet, but no time like the present. For several long, painful moments he snapped a photo of the damage inflicted, forcing himself to look at the brutality that his invention had caused.

"Stark? Who the hell cleared you to be here?"

Howard startled at the sound of the unexpected voice. He had only spoken to John McGinnis once. Every other request or follow up on the Midnight Oil had come from men that answered to him, the general far too busy to be bothered with the scientists that he had so little regard for.

He knew that voice though, somehow. It bit through the horror and set deep like burning embers ready to fuel a rage like he had never known. And it only grew as he stood, pocketing his pen smoothly, and turned to face the man that had sent his lackies in to steal what had caused this. He stared for a long moment, a half dozen angles on how to best handle the situation running through his mind with statistics calculated for each outcome. In the end, they didn't matter.

"What did you do?" he breathed out and McGinnis snorted.

"Fought a battle, Mr Stark, though I suppose you may not recognize what that looks like from your comfy seat back in London. Lieutenant, escort Mr Stark -"

Howard loosed a trembling breath and swept his hand out towards the carnage. "You killed them."

McGinnis blinked at that, but then waved at the approaching lieutenant as if he didn't want to repeat himself. He turned to leave without bothering with another word and Howard lashed out. He caught a handful of the general's sleeve, pulling him back around and taking a swing with the momentum. The man was a walking mountain, thick and tall with a jawline that might have even put Cap's to shame. Howard had to angle the punch upward to connect at all. Even as he did, he felt the pain of the blow shoot through his knuckles, into the small bones of his hand, and up through his wrist. He stumbled, the opposite hand instinctively going to cradle the one he'd thrown the punch with, and looked back to see that he hadn't even caused McGinnis to stumble. By the looks of him, all he'd managed to do was piss him off.

The larger man lunged forward and Howard steeled himself as best he could, but every ounce of breath driven out of his lungs by the blow to his middle. He folded over, a sputtering cough barely escaping as he did, and a hard blow that felt distinctly like an elbow to his upper back - some sensations you never forget, no matter how many years it'd been - sent him crashing down to the ground.

"You just took a swing at a general in front of his troops, Stark. I thought you were supposed to be smart."

He was pulling air into his lungs in painful, shallow gasps, but somehow managed to look up at him. The larger man didn't say anything, nor did anyone around them move as Howard slowly stumbled to his feet. "You sonuva bitch," he managed. "Just couldn't wait. Couldn't ..."

Howard took another swing, but stumbled, falling into McGinnis who pulled him in close so that he was trapped there. That booming voice rumbled in his ear. "This doesn't have to be on either of us. Let it go."

The inventor shoved backwards, only breaking free because McGinnis allowed him too. He shook his head, the words not quite finding their way off his tongue.

McGinnis snorted. "You lab rats really should learn your place in this war."

And then he was moving. His punch landed hard against Howard's cheekbone and whipped his head around, the rest of him following. He was out before he hit the ground again.

* * *

"Cap, how close are we to Finow?"

Steve glanced over from where he'd been poking at the dying fire, trying to urge it back to life with little success. He tilted his head as he did the mental math of where they were versus the general area Dugan was referring to. "Maybe about eighty klicks, give or take. Why?"

Dum Dum waved the radio in the air. "Just heard from Phillips. Something 'bout Stark getting into some trouble?"

Blond brows drew together and Steve stood slowly, brushing his hands off. The fire could wait. "What kind of trouble?"

"No clue. All they told Phillips was that he was being held and he should send someone to come get him first chance he got. Phillips wasn't exactly in the sharin' mood."

"Right…"

"How much you wanna bet Phillips just didn't want to admit whatever Stark's gotten himself into?" Jim Morita chuckled as he looked up from his card game with Bucky.

"Bet she's blonde," Gabe Jones added.

Bucky snorted. "And leggy. Wish I could get into some of that trouble."

Dugan broke into a wide grin under his mustache. "You and me both, brother."

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he pulled his compass from his pocket, Peggy's photo staring up at him as he flipped it open. "We should be able to get there… maybe a day and a half?"

Falsworth finally sat up from where he'd been attempting to doze. "That'll put us behind."

"Not too bad, and not all of us need to go get Howard. Dugan, Bucky, and I can go get him while the rest of you keep going. That way you can get the scouting done by the time we get back. If Howard's not in too much trouble, we'll have him drop us over the zone."

"Don't worry, boys. We'll bring the blondes with us," Dugan offered, laughter the overwhelming response.

Steve shook his head, his lips quirked are the corners, but no matter how light the others made of the situation, it couldn't be good if Howard needed an escort back. They just wouldn't know how bad until they got there.

* * *

No one seemed to want to acknowledge them when they first arrived, much less meet their eyes. That was the first sign something wasn't quite right. They finally found someone that passed them off to someone else, and they made the rounds from rank to rank until a Lieutenant Piper finally seemed to know where Howard was being kept.

"I still don't get why he needed a lift," Bucky mused in the lieutenant's direction. "He had to get out here somehow."

"The plane he came in was redirected."

Steve turned at that one, catching his friends' equally confused gazes. That didn't make sense. "Stark tends to fly his own plane in. How -?"

Piper shrugged. "Above my paygrade, Captain. Sorry."

"So who can give us some answers?" Dugan asked gruffly, receiving an irritated look from the officer. Ranks didn't mean a lot in the Howling Commandos, but they did in this company. Obviously.

"General McGinnis. But he's…" He looked over and Steve followed his gaze to a tall, broad man who immediately turned in the opposite direction. "The general is otherwise occupied. You're welcome to take Stark and go."

"Any of this sound fishy to you?" Dugan asked quietly and Bucky nodded in agreement.

They followed Lieutenant Piper to the furthest corner of the camp and into a tent marked with a red cross on white background. The uncomfortable feeling that had settled firmly into Steve's chest began to tighten and twist with each step until Piper stopped where a group of nurses had circled around a cot. He cleared his throat loudly and they scattered, revealing a grinning Howard Stark that had been at the center of their attention.

That should have eased at least some of the worry right there, but as the nurses retreated and gave him a clearer view, Steve could see why Howard had been relegated to the - strangely empty, now that he looked around - medical tent. His left cheekbone was showing signs of bruising that was just a little over a day into forming and the accompanying brow was split. His shirt hung open to reveal bandages around his ribs and his right hand was also secured in them. Somehow he'd managed to land in the middle of a fight. How or why, Steve had no idea. The lack of injured soldiers around them should mean that there hadn't been a battle anywhere nearby, even if the inventor had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Cap," Howard chuckled, standing slowly from his cot. "Would have thought you'd have more important things to do than come pick me up."

"We were relatively close by."

Bucky stepped forward. "What happened?"

"Huh? Oh this?" He motioned with his injured hand to his injured face. "Nothing we need to get into."

"We're gonna need a little more than that, pal," Dugan said lowly. They all knew there was more to this story than they'd been told. If anything, they had thought that Stark would be eager to fill them in. Apparently not.

Howard straightened his shoulders a little, dark gaze flickering over to where Piper still lingered off to the side. "It's nothing. I do think I need a ride though. Sounds like the Army decided to put my plane on their tab."

"We brought the jeep," Bucky offered.

"Good. Not sure I'd be great on foot too far." Howard's tone was light as he awkwardly worked the buttons of his shirt back into place and grabbed his tattered suit jacket off the back of the chair, slipping it in stiffly. He tilted his chin up as he started past Piper.

"Stark-"

"Yeah yeah. You can tell 'im I got the message loud and clear," he growled as he passed the young lieutenant.

Steve exchanged confused looks with both Bucky and Dugan before taking off after the engineer.

* * *

He had gotten the message loud and clear. That's what Howard had said as they left. The _loud and clear_ reared its ugly head not just in the visible bruises that lined his cheekbone and jaw along the left side of his face, but in the stiffness that lingered in his movements and the quiet way he folded into himself in the back of the jeep once they started out of the camp. Howard Stark was a lot of things, but quiet wasn't one of them.

The part that Steve _didn't_ understand was exactly what the message was.

Howard was in Europe with the SSR, but his company was responsible for multiple government contracts. It wasn't unusual for him to work on special projects that took him out into the field, but unless he was slipping off to fly the Howling Commandos on a particularly difficult mission that they couldn't get an Army pilot approved for, he wasn't supposed to be anywhere near the actual fighting at the time it was happening. Even if he'd been caught up in the battle there, though, there was no reason he'd be so locked down about the whole thing. Something else was wrong.

They had stopped for the night on their way up to an airstrip where Howard could catch a ride back up to London. Any other time he would have been teasing and joking and laughing with the others. The Commandos had a fondness for their resident designer that made sure all of their equipment could withstand whatever Hydra would throw at them, even if they gave him hell. This time, though, even Bucky couldn't pull him out of his own head.

"Never thought I'd see the day Stark didn't leap at being the center of attention in any way possible," his oldest friend mumbled as he moved close enough that Steve was the only one that could hear him.

"Did you get anything from him?"

"Nope. Neither did Dugan. Whatever happened, he's locked down tight."

"But why?"

Steve looked over as Bucky pushed a thoughtful breath out through his nose. "I know a beatdown when I see one. Whoever he went toe-to-toe with was bigger than him. Stronger than him."

"Not hard."

Bucky shot him a long-suffering look. "Says the man that was actually _shorter_ than him just a couple of years ago." Dark blue eyes fixed on him. "Go talk to him."

"Neither of you could get anything from him. What makes you think I can?"

"'Cause it's you."

Steve shot him a confused look and Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Stark practically idolizes you. If anybody's got a chance in getting him to open up about what happened, it's you."

He didn't give Steve the chance to argue, but brushed past him with the mumbled comment about getting more wood for the fire. With all of the subtlety of a bull in a china closet, Dugan followed, leaving Steve to make his hesitant way over to the brooding scientist.

Sometimes it was hard to remember that Howard was only a little over a year older. Steve had sat in the lab listening him go on and on about the path that had landed him with the SSR while the Manhattan-native had pieced together his upgraded uniform and shield. He had waved off questions about his family, but he'd happily gone on and on about the connections he'd made at MIT which had led him to starting his own business by the time he was twenty-two that eventually led Phillips to recruiting him to the SSR - because he was bored, Howard had told him flippantly, and Steve still wasn't sure if that had been a joke or not - and eventually to Project Rebirth. He'd done so much in his twenty-seven years of life that sometimes it was hard to remember that's all he'd lived.

In that moment, as Howard sat alone with his spine curled and his shoulders crumbled forward under the weight of whatever he refused to talk about, he looked older too.

"How're you feeling?" Steve asked after a long moment, startling the dark haired man from the thoughts he looked like he was drowning in.

A pair of dark brown eyes blinked owlishly up at him, catching the glimmer from the fire just a few feet away. "Huh? Oh. I'm fine. It looks worse than it feels."

Steve motioned to the open space next to him and Howard shrugged gingerly, giving him the go-ahead to take a seat. "I've been there. It usually feels about as bad as it looks."

Howard snorted at that, the sound mostly amused. "Never did run from a fight, did you Cap? Me, I don't jump on the grenade. I just find a way to stick the pin back in."

"So what happened this time?"

"Sometimes there's no way to stick it back in," the other man said softly, his voice shaking just a little.

Steve caught his gaze. "Howard, what happened?"

A beat of silence stretched into another and then another, leaving Steve with the feeling that he was going to get the same silent treatment as the others had. Finally, Howard pulled in a breath, the first words riding out on its release. "What I say doesn't leave us. It's gotta….I can't win this with fists." He looked over, quirking a split eyebrow. "As you can see."

That pulled the softest of chuckles from Steve. "It stays between us," he promised.

"The general there - McGinnis - asked me to come up with something that could keep soldiers awake longer. Days was the goal."

"Can't see how that'd go wrong," Steve grumbled.

"And it did. A lot of men died. A lot of _Allied_ men died. They... " Steve waited, watching Stark curl a little more into himself, his hands moving anxiously as he tried to come up with the words. "It was like an animal got loose and ripped them all to shreds. It was my fault."

Steve swallowed hard. An empty med tent was unheard of after a battle with the nazis. They hadn't fought the nazis though. "Did he know?"

Howard's gaze snapped up at the question. "I hear that tone, Cap. You said this would stay between us."

"And it will. I'll keep my word, but, Howard, if he knew it wasn't ready and used it anyway…. That's not your fault."

For another long moment Howard simply sat, dark eyes reflecting the flames dancing in front of them, and he shook his head. "I knew what it'd do and I didn't protect it. Not gonna make that mistake again."

"What are you doing to do?"

"No putting the pin back in. That grenade's already gone off, but maybe I can keep him from doing any more damage with it. Taking a swing at him was, uh… not one of my brighter moments." Steve couldn't help but snort a laugh at that and Howard's lips tugged just a little at the corners. "There are other ways to take a dangerous man outta play."

Steve watched him for a long moment. "Just be careful, okay?"

Howard finally looked up at him and he burst out laughing, the sound startling the blond man. "Careful's not really my style."

"No it's not," Steve chuckled, shaking his head.

"I just gotta fix this, best I can. Best way I know how." He pulled in a breath and his tone was a little lighter. "Don't worry, Cap. I'm not abandoning you guys." His dark gaze flickered past Steve to where Bucky and Dugan were doing a terrible job at pretending to mind their own business. "Someone's gotta drop you crazy bastards in the middle of the firefight when no one else will."

"Takes one to know one," Dugan laughed and Howard flashed a grin that almost seemed real.

The others joined them and they settled into a more comfortable conversation for the rest of the evening, no one daring to turn the subject back around to what had happened.

They dropped Howard off at the airstrip the next day and he turned down the offer for one of them to go with him to London, saying that he needed to get some things done on his own. From what Steve heard he didn't stay in London long, returning instead to New York. A little over a week later the news spread that General John McGinnis had resigned from his post and just a few days after that Howard cut ties with one of his biggest Army contracts, sending a wave of uncertainty through the ranks. An expensive decision on all sides, from what was being said, but Steve was willing to bet it had more to do with trust than money.

Promises made or not, the Howling Commandos had no idea what to expect when they got back to their London base. Stark's men, for the most part, worked for the SSR rather than him directly, so at least in theory they would still be equipped for their missions. Getting there might be a bit more difficult if he'd decided to pack it up and go home.

"Well look at that," Bucky chuckled as they made their way into the labs to find Howard Stark working away like nothing had happened.

"Had you not heard?" Peggy Carter's voice drifted in, drawing their attention over. "The SSR has Mr Stark's full attention again. Lucky us."

"You know you love having me around more, Peg," Howard chuckled from where he was leaned in, examining something under his microscope.

She rolled her eyes good naturedly at the tease. "There's never a dull moment, certainly. Good to see you back in one piece, Captain. Boys."

"Agent Carter," he greeted as she moved past him towards the door, hoping that his smile didn't look nearly as dopey as it felt. He pulled in a breath and turned back to Howard. "We hadn't heard if you were coming back or not."

"Told you I was." He turned, the bruises faded and all that amusement finally back in those dark eyes. "Where's the trust, Cap?"

"About seven hundred feet in the air over Hydra-occupied territory, if you're up for it."

"Going in?"

"We've got a pretty tight turn around this time and can't seem to find a pilot willing to take us."

"Guess it's a good thing I brought a new plane back with me," he said lightly as he slipped off the stool he'd been perched on and started for the door.

* * *

**Notes**:I came across the story that Dooley's reporter friend tells him about how Howard's Midnight Oil was used in WWII during the first season of Peggy Carter and couldn't shake the idea of Howard Stark trying to go toe-to-toe with someone twice his size and failing miserably. The Stark men are much better at fighting smarter.

It definitely took a whole lot longer to write than I was expecting... I guess that's just the way when I'm first dipping my toe into writing in a different part of the fandom. I got hooked on writing Howard in my Endgame fix-it fic that brought him forward with Steve and Peggy and now I have all these plot bunnies running amok for WWII era Howard, Peggy, Steve, and the Howling Commandos. Hopefully there will be more. :)


End file.
